A Wolf's Guilt
by Marlwolf
Summary: Several years ago a little boy was bitten by a werewolf and his name was Remus Lupin. The wolf never meant for it to happen that way and he suffered for it for the rest of his life. See the world through his golden eyes.
1. Odin

DISCALIMER: I own nothing, nothing you hear me! Well, apart from Odin, Frey, Skadi, and all the other Lupuscans. They're all mine. Please don't nick 'em otherwise I won't be happy with you!  
  
Oh, and please review, it'd make me very happy (call it your good deed for the day!)  
  
PART 1 - Odin  
  
Professor Varulf was furious.  
  
He stared at the parchment in a towering rage, resisting the overwhelming urge to screw it up and throw the damned thing in the fire. Pushing back his desk chair he stalked out into the corridor, slamming the heavy door behind him.  
  
Odin Varulf was a fairly tall man with long corn coloured hair and startling pale blue eyes that always seemed to look beyond what everyone else saw, a gaze he had picked up after a lifetime of looking at the stars despite being only in his mid thirties. He had a friendly, cheerful face and was generally liked by students and teachers alike for his easy-going, accessible nature. But today his face betrayed his anger and no one dared approach him.  
  
He glared menacingly at the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office and hissed the password through savagely clenched teeth.  
  
Without even bothering to knock, he stormed into the study and slammed the letter that had caused him so much anger down on the solid oak desk, his Norwegian accent coming out strongly in his rage.  
  
'What is the meaning of this, Armando?'  
  
Professor Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, turned to face the irate Astronomy teacher with a mixture of sadness and fear stamped across his frail features.  
  
'Now, now, Odin, calm down. I'm sure you understand that with Frey's. condition he would be a danger to others. I won't have that risk hanging over my head. It would be irresponsible to accept him.'  
  
'Risk? You don't have the vaguest idea what you are talking about, Armando. My son poses no threat to anyone. I have looked after him for almost eleven years without any problem. Nothing would change if he came here.'  
  
'Odin, calm yourself. Think of what people would say if I allowed a. werewolf to run around loose in this school. There's no telling what damage he would cause,' the way in which he said werewolf, as if the word itself was filthy, made Varulf's eyes blaze and he leaned in closer to the Headmaster so their faces almost touched.  
  
'So you are more concerned with your own reputation than making sure everyone gets an equal right to study and make friends. My son is no monster, Armando, nor is he a mindless beast. But he is a wizard and needs to be taught.'  
  
Professor Dippet stood, if only to tear his eyes away from Odin's furious gaze, but the twin blue flames followed him, 'I'm sorry but I cannot allow it. He is your son and I understand that, but he is a danger to others and I will not have it. My decision is final, Odin.'  
  
Varulf drew himself up to his full considerable height, the air of absolute dignity and nobility hanging around him like a protective shroud, 'And so is mine. Someone needs to teach Frey and it's obviously not going to be you or your staff. You can take this as my immediate resignation. I will be gone by morning.'  
  
Armando was shocked, he hadn't realised how much his decision would cost him, 'Odin, be reasonable.'  
  
'Reasonable? It is not I who needs to be reasonable, Armando. Good day.' Odin strode towards the door.  
  
It was Dippet's turn to be angry now, 'You'll have to get the boy registered with the Ministry, you know. This new law.  
  
Varulf froze and his answer came from between clenched teeth, 'I will not have anyone demonising Frey because of something beyond his control. I've seen so called 'normal' wizards more dangerous. I'll be taking him back to Norway. It's a good place for a child to grow up, away from such absurd laws that turn him into a beast. My son is a wolf, Armando, and I will teach him to be proud of it.'  
  
'Please reconsider.'  
  
Something within Odin Varulf snapped at the old wizard's stubborn narrow- mindedness and turned to him with a wolfish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, 'You might as well know that Frey's condition is hereditary. Goodbye Armando.'  
  
With that Odin stalked out of the office and left the realisation of what he had just said just beginning to dawn on his old boss.  
  
Professor Dippet stared open mouthed as the werewolf who had taught Astronomy for the past six years walked away and decided to keep the bombshell to himself.  
  
* * * * *  
  
'Odin, are you all right?'  
  
Varulf was just packing the last of his belongings into his old and battered trunks. He shut the lid and turned the visitor at his open door.  
  
'I'm leaving, Albus. That idiot Dippet won't accept Frey. He needs me to teach him all he needs to know. It's going to be a hard world for him.'  
  
'How is Frey?'  
  
'Well enough. He's a strong boy and as charming as they come. Here's a picture.' Odin dug out a photograph in a wooden frame and handed it to his friend. In it it showed a handsome young boy, almost a smaller version of his father except for his eyes which were brilliant gold. 'He has his mother's eyes.'  
  
'Is that his mother?' Albus Dumbledore pointed to the young looking woman behind the boy.  
  
Odin shook his head, 'No that's my sister, Skadi. She looks after Frey while I'm here. My wife, Lene, died in giving Frey to me.'  
  
'I'll be sorry to see you go, Odin, but, if you don't mind me intruding, how did Frey become a werewolf?'  
  
'The same way I did. The Varulf's have been werewolves for centuries. It runs in our blood. No one really knows why our family was chosen to be different, but that's the way it is.'  
  
'It must be terrible to be so cursed.'  
  
Odin laughed, not the bitter laugh one might expect but one full of amusement. He placed his hand on Albus's shoulder and looked smilingly into his eyes, 'I am not cursed, my friend. Lycanthropy is seen as a curse only by those who do not have it. We few who possess it own a precious gift and we are proud to do so. Only those who do not understand their gift use it to cause destruction. It has been the purpose of all wolf born Varulf's to teach others to use their gift wisely. We are not monsters or demons, but those who can see in two worlds. Surely that is a valuable quality in these dark days of ours.'  
  
'I had never seen it that way.'  
  
'You have never had need to. It is a sad fact that we are afraid of what is different, but do not be afraid of us, Albus.'  
  
* * * * *  
  
Word of Professor Varulf's resignation had spread around the school like wildfire and students lined the corridors to wish him well. One in particular, a Ravenclaw sixth year, beckoned the ex-teacher into a quiet room where he could not be overheard.  
  
'You're not really leaving, are you Colvarn?'  
  
'I am afraid I must. My son needs me now. I would have wished him to come here and meet you lot, but fate is against me.'  
  
'But what about us, who will we turn to now?'  
  
'They will look to you, Saltus. You will be alpha in my stead. Here.' Odin pressed an amulet into the boy's hand. 'Do not fear, I shall return.'  
  
As Odin made his way into the night, he turned at an odd sound. Hanging out of one of the windows were six faces, all howling their hearts out. Odin threw back his head and joined them as Colvarn, now their departed alpha, before walking down the path into the star-filled night. 


	2. Jeremy

A year later Odin Varulf was a changed man. Since leaving Hogwarts he'd found taking the switch from man to wolf remarkably easy and life on four feet came naturally to him. He'd only fought the change for so long to preserve his career.  
  
Seated upon his haunches on the carpeted floor of his sister's house, he looked over at the pale young man sleeping fitfully and restlessly on the spare bed. Last night had been a traumatic one. The moon had been full and high when he'd run across the loner. Odin had only just been in time to prevent his victims being slaughtered, and the boy being shot. It had been too close, the silver bullet had actually grazed his fur.  
  
The youngster was a loner, that much was obvious, and in a fragile state. His face was thin and drawn, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow. He'd been easily overpowered when Odin took him down. Odin shook his shaggy head in consternation. For those who did not understand or were afraid found the transformation terribly painful and distressing. It shouldn't be this way, it was never meant to be like this. The boy needed the guidance that only he could provide.  
  
His eyelids fluttered as he returned to the waking world. Odin decided to fetch Skadi, the sight of his furry face directly after a full moon horror story might be rather more than he could handle.  
  
Jeremy's head swam as he fought rising waves of nausea. His whole body was racked with pain and he didn't want to wake up, it had been his dearest wish just to die in his sleep. Upon hearing approaching footsteps he became suddenly aware of where he was. He hadn't felt the soft comfort of a mattress in weeks, not since he'd run away. He was terrified because he had no idea where he was and who was approaching, yet an overwhelming feeling of calm belayed his fears.  
  
A soft hand stroked his pulsing forehead and brushed the tangled, unkempt hair away from his face.  
  
'Are you awake, my friend?' asked a beautiful, softly accented feminine voice.  
  
Jeremy opened his bloodshot eyes and shielded them from the stinging rays of the midday sun. He found himself looking at a vision in jeans and a baggy grey jumper. A vision with pale skin, hair the colour of willow leaves in autumn and eyes the colour and depth of the deepest ocean.  
  
'How did I get here?' his voice was croaky and sore.  
  
'My brother found you last night. He thought you might be hurt so he brought you back here. I think he said you hit your head against a tree.'  
  
Jeremy reached up and tenderly felt the lump on the back of his head before doubts entered his mind, 'But last night...'  
  
How could he tell this beautiful young woman that he thought he was a werewolf? At the very least she'd think he was completely off his trolley.  
  
She smiled and patted him gently on the hand, 'You do not need to explain to a Varulf. We know. We are. We have been for centuries.'  
  
'Then you are...?'  
  
The woman nodded, 'And so is my brother and my nephew. My name is Skadi, Skadi Varulf.'  
  
'Jeremy, Jeremy Beech.' Jeremy winced as he tried to sit up. He was covered in cuts and bruises and moving hurt him. Skadi noticed and tried to help, supporting his aching back.  
  
'Welcome to my home, Jeremy. Are you hungry?'  
  
At the mere mention of food Jeremy's stomach violently contracted and his face drained of all colour, 'No.'  
  
'But you must drink or you will not become well again. Drink this while I clean your wounds.'  
  
Jeremy didn't see where Skadi produced the water that she handed him. He raised it to his lips and began to drink. He'd never tasted water like this, it was as sweet as honey and spread cooling waves through his body. He began to gulp it down greedily when Skadi's hand softly restrained him, 'You'll make yourself sick,' she kindly scolded him, 'Small sips are good.'  
  
He took her advice and took the drink more slowly while Skadi bathed his cuts and bruises with a lotion. Drowsiness overcame him, along with an overwhelming feeling of security and a soft hand stroked his brow with the tenderness of a lover.  
  
Skadi removed the cup from his hand just as it was about to fall from the relaxed limb. She straightened the quilt on his bed and left him to rest. She hoped the healing potion would do its work while he slept and hadn't been too diluted by the sleeping draught. Only time would tell. She closed the door and left Jeremy to his rest.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was dark by the time he awoke. The comfort of the bed was so great that he didn't want to move. The absolute blackness apart from the light coming from under the door was strangely reassuring. He sat up and examined the room properly for the first time since his arrival. It was simply furnished with a hotchpotch of furniture from a darkly coloured chest of drawers with gold edging to a silver mirror mounted on top of a pale pine dresser. But however assorted the furniture was, there was no doubt about the feeling of homeliness that the room gave out. To Jeremy it seemed perfect.  
  
He eased himself out of bed, and found himself in only the most minor of discomforts. All the sickening aches and pains of earlier had been magically eased away. It was the wonder of a good sleep, he told himself.  
  
Pulling on a thick towelling dressing gown that had been thoughtfully left at the foot of his bed, Jeremy opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He felt like he'd stepped back in time. Candelabras alight with flickering flames lit the hallway, casting all around them with a soft golden glow. His shadow seemed immense as he crept to the stairs, feeling that any louder sound would be sacrilege in this peaceful haven. The loud creaking of the stairs made him flinch, the sound almost appalled him in this place.  
  
The walls were lined with paintings of forests and fjords, reminders of home. And wolves. Everywhere he looked there was always a wolf watching him. But these were not like the vicious monster that had attacked him, they stared at him with benevolence, even pity, and all of their expressions seemed to welcome him. One particularly beautiful female with fur like the first frost on a fallen oak leaf seemed to reach out to him with her eyes. He was so absorbed in the painting that he did not notice Skadi come up to meet him.  
  
'She is very beautiful, isn't she?'  
  
Jeremy started, but relaxed when he saw who it was, 'Yes, she seems almost alive.'  
  
Skadi reached up and touched the canvas, 'She was my mother. Odin painted this not long before she died.'  
  
The whole concept of having a wolf for a mother was absurd, but he was teetering on the edge of the sane world anyway, 'I'm sorry.'  
  
'Don't be. She went peacefully, unlike many of our family. The price we pay for being what we are.' Sorrow sparked fleetingly in her eyes before she smiled at Jeremy's vocal stomach, 'You must be hungry. Come with me. I'll make you some supper. You can sit with my brother whilst I cook.'  
  
'Someone as beautiful as you deserves to be cooked for.'  
  
Skadi laughed, 'Odin would do it, but it is not so easy for him any more. But he provides for us and that is enough.'  
  
The slender young woman led the skinny man into the sitting room. Leather sofas and chairs of various ages, colours and qualities sat in comfortable nooks in the large room with furs and sheepskins scattered over the polished wooden floor. Old books lined the walls along with several ornaments and keepsakes. A merry fire burned cheerfully in an old stone grate to keep out the chills of an autumn night.  
  
'Jeremy, I'd like you to meet Odin, my brother, who saved you last night.'  
  
Jeremy scanned the room, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the fire, but saw no one who could be Skadi's brother, in fact he saw no one at all. It was all he could do to restrain a scream when he saw one of the fur rugs move and a wolf sat up. A wolf with eyes full of intelligence, like no wolf he'd ever seen, except for those in the paintings on the stairs.  
  
Odin's voice bore the same accent as Skadi's, 'Welcome to our home, Jeremy. My name is Odin Varulf. Please sit down, I mean you no harm.'  
  
Odin had noticed that Jeremy's face had gone as white as porcelain and he was shaking. His family had experienced much the same reaction countless times in the past when confronting a confused werewolf for the first time after switching.  
  
Jeremy slumped on one of the yielding leather armchairs, his legs having collapsed in fear rather than in compliance with Odin's request. The wolf took a seat on the most worn and claw marked seat that was liberally scattered with hairs of many shades. It had been his favourite chair as a man and continued to be so as a wolf.  
  
'You are welcome in this house for as long as you wish to stay and you are free to leave when you choose. I want to help you understand what you are if you want to accept it. We will force nothing upon you and all we ask in return is that you do not tell anyone what we are.'  
  
It seemed fair enough to Jeremy, but no one was that nice. There had to be a catch in it somewhere, but for now he would make the most of their hospitality. His deep thought was broken by a bark from the wolf and some rapidly spoken words in a language he did not understand. He turned in his seat and saw a twelve-year-old boy peering around the doorframe. Jeremy could not tear his eyes away from the boy's. Vivid yellow in colour, bordered in deeper rust, there was something unnatural and unworldly about them, but they spoke volumes in humour and love.  
  
Odin eventually nodded and the boy entered the room fully. He was tall and lean, but carried about him an aura of power and wisdom even at his young age. He held out a fair hand and Jeremy accepted it.  
  
'My name's Frey. Aunt Skadi told me that we had a guest and I wanted to meet you. What's your name?'  
  
'Jeremy, Jeremy Beech.'  
  
'Will you be staying here long?'  
  
'I don't know yet.'  
  
'I hope you do. It's nice talking to different people.'  
  
'Why, don't you see many others?'  
  
'No. Not many people come here.'  
  
'But what about school?'  
  
'I don't go to school; they wouldn't let me. Father teaches me instead.'  
  
'That's a shame. School's great fun, but I'm sure your father's a very good teacher.'  
  
'Oh yes. He used to be a proper teacher, but came home to teach me instead.'  
  
It was at this moment that Skadi re-entered the room with a tray holding a steaming bowl of soup and thick chunks of buttered bread, 'Frey, you should be in bed. Say goodnight and go upstairs.'  
  
'But I'm not tired.'  
  
'Now.'  
  
With a rather sullen expression Frey disappeared upstairs and Jeremy tucked into his soup.  
  
'He's a nice boy.'  
  
Odin's bright blue eyes lit up with fatherly pride, 'Yes, he is.'  
  
'Why doesn't he go to school?'  
  
'The school wouldn't accept him once they found out what he was.'  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
'Frey, too, is a werewolf, Jeremy. It is easier for him than it is for you because he was born the way he was, like Skadi and I. But I can help you and I can make it easier. All I need is your cooperation.'  
  
'But there's no cure.'  
  
'Nor likely to be. Many have tried but we have found that understanding is the better way to come to terms with your inner wolf. As for myself, I have come to terms too much and look what happens!'  
  
Odin laughed at himself and Jeremy found himself laughing too. For the first time he felt like he could talk about such things without fearing reprisal. Soon Odin didn't look so strange to him.  
  
Over the following weeks and months Jeremy found out about other worlds he had no idea existed. Magic was real if you had it in your blood and the Varulf's seemed to have so much magic and wolf that it left little room for humanity.  
  
The first transformation had been an experience he would never forget. He felt the pain of the onset when Skadi took his hand and calmed him as he began to feel the familiar surges of panic rising up. She seemed to transform almost in the blink of an eye, a fluid, liquid movement that made tides of new emotions arise and cancel out the fear and anger of before. He almost didn't realise it when he, too, had changed.  
  
He felt free as he bounded shoulder to shoulder with Odin and Skadi, Frey gambolling ahead on over-long juvenile legs. The young werewolf was like a miniature reflection of the full moon, being purest white in colour.  
  
Over the moons the barriers between man and wolf broke down until both thought with the same mind and loved with the same heart. And what love he had found in Skadi. Their hearts and voices sang together, an eternal connection forged with the barest of efforts.  
  
Odin saw this love begin to blossom and often left them alone to discover the pleasures of each other. Frey was beginning to find his own feet in the world and often wanted to explore on his own, leaving Odin to experience the joys of being a free wolf, but having the comfort of family to return to.  
  
It was upon such an evening that Odin Varulf made the biggest mistake of his life, and one for which he would never forgive himself.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Saiph rested his head against the tree, his eyes closed. This was a hard subject for him to talk about, for he knew how much pain it would cause Remus. He slightly regretted the telling of this tale now, maybe it would have been better for all if he still believed he'd been the victim of some rogue attack. But he'd been there, he'd seen the whole thing and it was a slur on his father's memory to let him continue believing it.  
  
Remus hadn't been the only one who'd suffered for that one night.  
  
Elhaz squeezed his paw comfortingly. She knew the whole sorry mess. She'd heard Colvarn's dying confession and his attempts to rectify the situation he'd caused in a moment of forgetting. But he'd learned a precious secret that one night, one that he'd passed down to all his pack, and one which Remus would learn once he'd accepted the truth of his bite.  
  
Remus himself sat staring at both wolves. He couldn't really remember his bite, he'd been too young. A moment of terror and pain, nothing more. He hadn't known Colvarn either and so did not understand their reverence for the departed alpha.  
  
'I was that mistake, wasn't I?' he asked.  
  
Saiph slowly nodded, 'Yes, and he never forgave himself for what he did to you. But let me tell you the whole tale and let you judge him for yourself...' 


	3. Remus

A heavy air of expectancy had settled over the Forest. Something was going on, but few, even those participating, knew the full details of it.

Remus was bare-chested and barefoot as he walked silently over the soft carpet of fallen pine needles. His lungs felt tight with apprehension and the myriad of thoughts spun confusingly around in his mind.

A small sigh of relief soon built up into something equally as terrifying as he thought of the purpose why he was here. Every eye turned to him in cold silence. He had to prove himself worthy to join their pack. This was his initiation and he didn't dare think of what he'd have to do to demonstrate his faith in the pack. He walked through the aisle of expressionless faces to where two waited for him at the far end. The smaller was a marbled patchwork of blue, black and white, her eyes a shade darker than her coat and flecked with deepest ocean blue. In her arms was held a large cloth-wrapped parcel, embraced with the utmost care. At her side was an intimidating sight. Hugely tall and pure white, the wolfs' face was grave and stern, unlike the convivial, warm features he was used to this creature possessing.

Unable to look at them for the fear in his heart, Remus looked around the clearing and realised he'd been here before. Graves and cairns dotted the area, and the two alpha wolves were standing at the heads of two graves. Well, it had been two graves the last time he'd been here. Now there was only one, the one behind the white wolf, the other had been dismantled by the blue because it had been her own and was not needed for she still walked the earth.

The white wolf beckoned Remus up towards him, and the werewolf felt pulled along by a force he did not understand. He stopped at the wolfs' unspoken command.

'Remus, we have embraced you as a brother into the pack. We have given you shelter and understanding of yourself. But we still have much to teach you.

'My father created the external Lupuscan pack so that we could better understand the wolf at the very heart of our nature and he did so after discovering a secret, a secret so great that we have not let it outside the pack. This place is our home and the wolves you see around you our family. We are willing to offer you a place in that family if you choose to accept it.'

Remus closed his eyes for a moment and remembered how his parents had treated him after he'd become a werewolf, how he'd hardly been a member of the family any more, hidden away and shunned. The ones who'd caused all his pain were offering him the chance to become one of them fully. His anger at his past subsided at the memory of all the closeness and love he'd been given by the wolves of the forest. How could he refuse?

'I accept.'

A smile tugged at the corners of Saiph's mouth, although he tried to hide it, 'Good, good. You have proved your heart strong, but at the core of every family, of every pack, is trust. Without trust we will always be alone, no matter how much we try to fool ourselves. I must trust you to not betray our family to those who would try to harm it. In turn you must trust me to lead you well and not to harm you. I must trust you to stand fast in the face of danger if I ask it of you. Do you trust me?'

The words were said with such strength that he knew he would always feel safe in the presence of this wolf, 'I trust you.'

The white wolfs face suddenly became far more grim, 'Then stand fast, Remus.'

The cloth swathed bundle in Elhaz's arms was unwrapped to reveal a powerful looking crossbow. From the ranks of the Lupuscans one came forward carrying a fearsome, metal-tipped bolt flighted in black feathers. With the utmost care Saiph took the bolt and loaded into the bow. He raised it up and sighted it straight at Remus's chest.

Remus swallowed hard as panic gripped him, but he did not move. The words turned into a mantra to keep him standing firm, 'I trust you, I trust you, I trust you.' He closed his eyes and kept the words on his lips, but even they faltered when he heard the bowstring twang. He screamed in pain as the bolt entered his flesh and knocked him off his feet.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The toddler sat in the garden. It was a fine summers evening and he was playing happily in the warm golden light. His parents owned a small rambling cottage at the edge of a wood and a garden that held endless fascination for a small boy. But all of them paled into insignificance compared to what lay just beyond the edge of the trees.

Glowing reddish gold in the evening light, something large watched him with mesmerising sky-blue eyes.

Odin didn't know why he found the child so intriguing. He hadn't found a child so ultimately absorbing since his own son had been around the same age. He'd hardly dared to let Frey out of his sight when he was so young, fearful if he blinked he might miss some action or gesture for the first time. He felt the same way about the child in front of him now, his sandy hair and curious blue eyes looking at him not with fear, but with wonder.

He cautiously approached the toddler, wagging his tail and trying to look as unthreatening as possible. To his utmost delight the child reached out to feel the fur on his flanks and face, his tiny hands weaving and tracing the lines of colour that patterned his body.

Odin never knew why he did what he did next, and he would curse it for the rest of his life. He led the child astray.

He wanted to show the boy the wonders of the forest, almost as if he felt a kindredness of spirit that could not be ignored. He bounded with delight when he saw the same fascination in the child's face as they watched the sunlight dapple and shimmer on a small streamlet, stared at the richness of colour in the summer leaves and follow a trail of ants back to their nest at the base of a sycamore. Only when the light began to fade did the wolf realise how long they had been away. A sudden pang of guilt racked him as he realised what he had done, the thought of what he would have felt if Frey had been missing for so long. Immediately resolving to take the boy back, Odin set off, only to check his pace once he realised how tired the toddler was, and how far away from his home they had wandered.

Darkness was almost complete once they got nearby. The boy was frightened by the dark and clung tight to Odin's thick neck fur. He could hear the youngster's parents calling out and began to say his goodbyes to the child when disaster struck. Tired and half-blinded by the falling blackness, the toddler stumbled against a raised rock, falling forwards. Odin's immediate reaction was to try and catch him with the only thing he could – his teeth.

The boy screamed as he felt the wolf's teeth upon his arm, and Odin let go of him quickly. He watched in absolute horror as a tiny trickle of blood began to run from a wound caused by his fangs. Looking up in panic he saw the full moon staring balefully down upon him through the verdant canopy. He'd passed this innocent his condition and his whole being revolted at the idea. He'd now condemned this child to a life of persecution and misunderstanding thanks to his own selfish needs. His tipped back his head and howled out his grief and sorrow, a perfect counterpart to the child's cries of pain and fear.

Finally deciding that self-pity was not going to help at that time and that the child was what he must think of now, he pulled himself together and launched into a comical display to remove the child's mind from his pain. He gambolled around like a spring lamb, making the boy chuckle, the panic forgotten, but Odin's heart was heavy with the thought of what must now be done. He could not take the boy back to his parents now, they would likely as not refuse to accept him as their own any more. Perhaps the fates had worked in mysterious ways and had given him another son. Perhaps.

These thoughts had made him careless about what else lay beyond the lines of trees. Until a few dancing lights brought him back to reality. Voices carried over the still air and the child began to pull him towards them, recognising them as his parents.

All was chaos then, and confusion as the wolf was spotted by the young boy's parents. The child tried to protect his friend, but there was screaming and shouting as the slight trail of blood down his left arm. From nowhere someone produced a crossbow and Odin screamed and collapsed as he felt the quarrel shatter through his shoulder. From nowhere something angry and white came flying through the air, his rage flying in spittle from his bared teeth. Frey had come.

The man with the crossbow fumbled to nock another bolt as Frey stood snarling and shrieking over his fallen father. From not far away came the howls of others and the boys parents grabbed their son and ran, unwilling to take on the whole pack, praying that the white wolf did not follow them.

Once they had fled out of sight, Frey bent to examine his wounded father, tears in his eyes. Odin's breathing was laboured and his blood leaking all over the forest. The sharp scent of silver assailed his nostrils and he howled out his grief, his fathers blood on his paws, knowing that there was no way out this time.

Skadi and Jeremy saw the flash of white through the trees and joined him in his mourning for the fallen father, brother and teacher, a hymn of sorrow so palpable it seemed that the whole forest wept for them.


	4. The Sword of the Gods

The previously cheerful house was cloaked in silence and grief. Even the wolves in the paintings had lowered their eyes and bodies in deference to a fallen kinsman.

Odin's breathing was shallow and his fur streaked with a fever sweat. When his eyes did open they were glazed and dull. Odin Varulf was dying.

No one ever said death by silver was quick and easy. Then again few had been around werewolves long enough to witness the full slow, painful, fever-racked death that such a dose of silver could produce. Those who were killed outright by a shot through the heart or a huge enough dose were the lucky ones. But there were too many of those who, like Odin, had been 'rescued' by their packmates before a fatal blow could be landed, or who were not hurt so bad initially that they could not escape, only to succumb to the slow, agonising torments of silver poisoning.

Skadi had hardly left her brother's side in the three days since Frey had carried his father home. Her face was drawn and tired, her eyes hollow and bloodshot with sorrow and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She was an adequate healer, but nothing she knew could halt this fatal process of fever and decline, though spirits knew she'd tried. The wound itself was clean, and looked as if, given time, it would heal. But the real problem was now in his blood and destroying his organs. She now prayed to every god and ancestor she knew to make his passage to the other world quick. To end his suffering.

Jeremy quietly entered the room and handed Skadi a steaming cup of tea. Since she'd spent all her time caring for her brother and Frey was wandering as if in a dream, he'd taken charge of his adoptive family.

'Skadi, dinner will be ready in a few minutes,' he whispered, his voice and spirits hushed by the almost palpable presence of Death in the room.

'I'm not hungry.'

'You must eat. Odin wouldn't want you following him so soon. At least drink that, I'll plate you up some food and you can have it if you want it later.'

The young woman nodded her assent and began sipping the scalding liquid almost automatically. It was hot and sweet, yet it did hardly anything to warm the chill running through her soul. Tucking the blankets around the shivering, sweating body of her brother, Skadi got up and followed Jeremy out into the living room where she sank wearily into one of the leather armchairs. Jeremy brought her a bowl of steaming meat broth and thick chunks of homemade buttered bread. She tucked in hungrily and was almost halfway through before she tasted what she was eating.

'This is good, Jeremy, how did you make this?'

'Muggles aren't completely useless, my dear,' he smiled, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

A door slammed and the sound of heavy feet reverberated across the floorboards. 'Frey…?'

The young werewolf was almost unrecognisable. His eyes, once so full of life and humour were lost and glazed and, much more worryingly, angry. There was a quality in him that could be the saving or the breaking of werewolfkind, and anger was the path to its destruction. His pale hair, seemingly paler with every full moon that passed, was wild and unkempt, and his clothes torn and frayed. His aunt knew better than to ask where he had been, she knew. Howling out his rage and grief to the winds, trying to outrun his pain in the forest, clawing his frustration on the bark of trees.

'Frey, there's some soup on the stove. It's good.' Skadi said hopefully.

'I'm not hungry,' the younger wolf grunted. Skadi knew he wouldn't be. There was blood on his shirt.

'Could you take some through to your father, please. He needs to eat.'

'Why…?'

Skadi almost thought he was going to challenge her. There was something about his posture that was threatening, even if he didn't mean it to be. But she once again she could read his thoughts. All the questions beginning with why. But the main one that kept coming through again and again, Why prolong the inevitable?

Suddenly he sighed and his body lost the menace it had so briefly gained, turning towards the kitchen and ladled out some of the hot broth into a bowl. As he turned to go up the corridor to his father's room, he heard his aunt whisper, 'It is hard for a boy to lose both his parents.'

His father was laying in the same position he had been for days, well, almost. His blankets were twisted and disturbed, telling the tale of his father's restless existence. He writhed almost constantly in feverish nightmares, calling out in one language and then another. Frey knew what his father had done weighed heavily upon his mind.

The black-feathered bolt, still stained in Odin's blood, rested upon the shelf, a grisly reminder to them all, as if they needed it.

Frey straightened his father's blankets and dampened his brow, already spiky with sweat. Sitting beside the weak, trembling body, he slowly and carefully began to spoon the broth into his muzzle, wiping away the liquid where he dribbled.

Talking to him all the time, Frey tried to soothe him from his constant nightmares. He spoke of all things and nothing, memories and nonsense stories his father had told him when he was small. When he had finally run out of things to say, he reached for a small wooden pipe and played. Played to soothe his father's spirits and his own.

Frey's gift had always been in his music. In his hands a simple reed pipe became a magical thing without any thought or effort. It had always been said that music soothes the savage beast, but it takes a savage beast to play with such peace and soul to make the old adage ring true.

Tears streamed down the werewolf's face as he poured all the words he could never say into his music. Let this be the sound to which his father breathed his last.

Finally played out, the pipe dropped from his lips and Frey's hauntingly golden eyes fluttered open. Deep within them was a morbid fascination, an idea born through musical contemplation.

If he was going to lose the only parent he had ever known he wanted to know why. And, more importantly, how. How did silver poison werewolves and not anyone else? He half-remembered some old story about silver being the lunar metal and therefore harmful to creatures of the moon – the werewolves.

He could feel Odin's feverish heartbeat and saw his glazed eyes flicker in the throes of some nightmare, but it was the arrow wound that interested him.

The bones of Odin's shoulder had been broken, shattered really, by the force of the bolt. The actual wound itself was clean on the surface, but there was something odd about its scent. At first he thought it was silver as there was something faintly metallic about it, but as he probed deeper it finally dawned on him what it was – deep in the wound something was festering. His father wasn't dying from silver poisoning, he was dying from blood poisoning, from infection.

The full implication of what this meant had yet to dawn on the young wolf, so overwhelmed was he by the immediate prospects. Unlike silver, infection was something that they could do something about. Infection could be cured. Infection didn't have to be fatal…

'Aunt Skadi!'

- - - - -

In his fevered mind Odin Varulf was tortured. Hisses of accusation followed him and eyes burning with hate glittered out of a swirling black mist. He could feel their words like burning barbs of revulsion in his head. He had become everything he had worked so hard to remove, and damned an innocent child with him. He deserved this fate.

He deserved this long, agonising death and he resigned himself to it.

'He's dying, he's dying…' he heard that voices mock and he knew that he was. There was no way back. Even if he knew the path he wouldn't be able to find it in this inky maelstrom.

He sighed and lay down, ready to let Death take him from this place.

'Not yet,' a voice howled through the sibilant whispers of the others. 'Not yet.'

Cutting through the churning blackness came a figure painful in its whiteness. The thick fog parted to let this creature through. Odin raised his tired eyes to see a wolf of epic proportions striding towards him, not on four feet but on two. It was this wolfs' voice he had heard.

'You are not ready yet. You still have tasks that need to be fulfilled.'

Odin sighed wearily, resigned to his fate and unwilling to let it go, 'My time is over.'

'Your tasks are not yet over. You claimed one as your own. You need to survive for your pack. _I_ need you to survive.'

Odin looked up for the first time into the white wolf's golden eyes and saw the depth of compassion there that could only belong to one, 'Oh, Frey…'

'We need you. We need your guidance, your wisdom. You cannot die here. I will not let you die here.'

The white wolf that was Frey raised an immense paw to the sky, where miraculously a space had cleared to reveal the stars. His white paw grasped a point of light and pulled to draw a subtly curved blade that seemed made of the stars themselves.

'If the moon has cursed you, the Sword of the Gods will heal you. You shall not die!'

There was a hardness in his eyes that made Odin tremble. His son lunged hard and stabbed him straight in his wounded shoulder.

'Saiph!'

Through tear-blurred eyes, Odin watched as the starlit sword melted into his son's pure snow fur and the light of its magnificent blade shone through his eyes. The Sword of the Gods…

With a sigh he sank into a new sleep and knew his fate with absolute certainty. He would not die.

- - - - -

Remus screamed in pain as the bolt was pulled from his shoulder and a healing salve rubbed into the streaming wound it had caused.

'Scent it, Remus!' a voice commanded him.

The blood-stained bolt was brought up to his nose and he sniffed at it. Blood and… silver? He howled in grief, agony and betrayal. His pack had killed him.

'You will not die, Remus. Not here. Not now. The silver has entered you body and you _will not die_. Don't let false fate trick you into believing it. This is not what kills us, Remus. It was not a shot to kill. This is the same bolt that entered my father's flesh, and that of many around you. Let this myth be dispelled in your heart now. _Silver does not kill any more that any other metal_!'

Remus opened his eyes to see the Sword of the Gods standing above him, his namesake glittering brightly above him in the night sky as the pack raised its muzzles to their leader and howled out their loyalty.


End file.
